Elementary
by AdventsExodus
Summary: "Riddles always bring out the best of us, or in your case the worst temper tantrum I've ever seen a grown child throw." Rated T for language; Eventual Sherlock/OC
1. Pilot - Prolegomenon

Chapter 1

What burns brightest in its dying moments yet can never be dull? What is as fickle as the wind, but always finds consistency in personas? Is as far as the east is from the west, yet as close as a whisper?

Stumped yet? I admit, as adept I am at riddles, this one adequately puzzled me for a good while long – quite a feat for those who know me to be able to solve any enigma in less than 24 hours with a money back guarantee. How about simpler one eh?

What can be swallowed, but can also swallow you?

Figured it out yet? I'll give you some time – and no cheating by searching it up on Google or what-not, that would just kill all the fun and potential for your creativity to grow.

…

…

…

Got it? Well if not, let me guide your thinking. It can't be food, simply because you consume it yet it cannot necessarily consume you in the manner the question speaks of. How about the ocean then? I'll admit, it's what I went to first, but it too falls short - not very easy to swallow the river without spitting it out moments later. What about a more abstract approach? Like the realms of morals, thoughts, emotions….

Alright, you should've gotten it by now. The solution is pride. Get it? Honestly I was a bit frustrated at the transparency of the riddle and argued over multiple answers. That was, at least, until I met a man who could singly bring down a worldwide organization, deduce your childhood from your left pinkie, and solve a string of murder cases so complex the police were stumped all before Sunday service. Well, he could if not for me berating him for his over-dramatic antics.

I'll admit, looking back, I wonder just how we managed to survive with each other – him being so different than I, than _anyone_ for that matter. But I suppose that's what drew me to him and him to me initially. We were both riddles so simple, yet so complex that we couldn't help but stay in proximity if only to discover the slightest clue to the solution. Albeit the breaks in between where we were so overwhelmed with irritation at the other's enigma that it was paramount that we departed lest we tear each other apart or inwardly explode.

Want to know who _he_ is? Well, let me follow in suit with my previous ways by introducing a riddle. If you solve it, then I'll grant you your request. If not, then you'll forever be cursed to mull about it as it annoyingly pesters your mind until you're either forced to look up the answer (don't cheat!) or find some other way to distract yourself – which is no easy feat my friend.

He's the most brilliant man you'll ever meet, yet knows virtually nothing that the world dubs as common knowledge. Yet even so, he can discover the world from the slightest smudge of your fingerprints on a glass cup. He is most often associated with a silly deerstalker cap, but to his closest friends a blue scarf and scruffy coat are all that is needed to identify him. He puts forth an image of an extremely callous, indifferent man, but is undoubtedly the most devoted, wise human being you'll ever meet – if you can get by that horrible social ingrace of his.

Have it? Well, I'll be considerate to those who don't and save you from a life of nagging questions, or at least one enormous one that is. Can't guarantee the rest of your life, but then where would the fun be without a few riddles and the prospect of adventure? Only in an extremely dull life would that be the case I'm afraid.

Anyways, I'm getting off topic. So without further ado, the answer to my final riddle – or at least final one in this entry – is…

* * *

So I decided to be crazy and add to the enormous amount of Sherlock FanFics. Well it's been driving me up the wall lately to write, but I figured it would be more of a experience-gaining situation seeing as other people (coughcough 42believer) can pull off these fics way better than me. But why not? Maybe I can at least amuse some of you.

As opposed to many others, I actually prefer John and Sherlock as more friends than in a relationship, although that won't keep me from poking fun at it in the story as you'll eventually see. Speaking of eventually, I'll go on to expand on the fact that the OC in my story - which I realize I have yet to introduce in the next chapter - will **eventually** be in a relationship with that addicting detective. I mean, it always bothered me to see him immediately fall for someone when it's clearly not in his character to do so - or at least that's in my opinion. So yeah, take eventually as a synonym for practically forever, leaning towards the end of the story if at all.

If you like the story - which I'd be extremely surprised given the crappy intro, title, summary and overused Sherlock/OC pairing - give a review or thumbs up. Perhaps I can surprise you in the future? c;


	2. Pilot - The Old New World

Chapter 2

Cars and cabs honked noisily, adding to the symphony of city life. The bustling crowds, the smoggy air, the countless sights and sounds that could both exhilarate and numb oneself altogether… It sure was different than the quaint little town of Nocatee, but even though the intimacy of close relations marred by the simplicity of a rumor to infect the whole area within hours was on the other side of the Atlantic, London held a beauty of its own that neither small town nor any other location in the United States could. It had accents, _British_ accents. I think I could deal with a little smoggy air.

Seriously, I adored the city even without the amazing timbre of its residents that could literally send a good third of American girls head over heels – myself not excluded unfortunately. But London's true glamor in my eyes was its hospitality to visitors such as myself. Locals may argue, but believe me, it's enormously better than what you find in most US locations. Additionally the food actually came in portioned sizes as opposed to my native country's massive counterpart. In all, the place would be an ideal fit for me, though the distance from my friends back at home would be a challenge to overcome. I mean, I could always call them right?

_Ding!_

Speaking of friends…

_Hey girl! How was the flight? Have you met any London boys yet?_

It was Rebecca, an old roommate of mine bent on tagging along with me, yet ultimately unable to do so without a passport. Still, I somehow found myself mildly disappointed yet grateful that she didn't come with. I suppose it would've simply taken away from the whole new start.

_Long but nice. And no, I just arrived here silly._

I quickly texted the message and put my phone in my pocket prior to a security official passing by and ordering all passengers to exchange their mobiles for their passports. Grabbing my backpack's dangling strap, I lugged it onto my shoulder and proceeded two more inches in the rat-maze of customs. A half-hour later, I arrived at the counter where a kindly old man greeted me.

"First time in London young miss?" he inquired politely with bright blue eyes filled with joy in doing a job I'd only describe as terribly boring after the first week.

"Nope, I've visited a few times. Although it is nice to be back," I smiled, handing him my passport and forms.

He nodded, accepting my words while opening my passport to affirm I was who I claimed to be. It was then that I braced for what was to come. His expression hardened momentarily. He saw something suspicious. Oh no, please no. I prayed silently for rescue and in response his face suddenly cleared of all serious notions. Whew, that was clo-

"My! You're Wendy Verarity aren't you?" he exclaimed and a few heads turned to our direction.

Great, just what I was trying to avoid. "Yep, that's me," I let a small smile form on my face.

"Wow, and here I thought it was just another Monday. Well not anymore. It's not as if you get to meet the daughter of the famous Dominic Verarity, head of _the_ United Nations and winner of Nobel Peace Prizes across the board. I loved your speech in the World Youth Conference last year by the way. Really inspirational might I say," the man continued excitedly as the murmurs and points towards me increased steadily.

"Thank you, it really was nothing though," I blushed, not liking the attention, although I should've been used to it after being in consistent lime-light for ten years now.

"Please, you needn't be so modest. It prevents you from achieving your full potential," the elder winked, handing me my passport, "Have a wonderful stay and congratulations on your acceptance to University! Culture and Languages was it?"

"Yes," I smiled, tucking away my passport in my hoodie's pouch, "Have a nice day."

Speed walking away, I gave a breath of relief upon reaching the baggage claim, where a crowd thankfully concealed me from any faces that I could have encountered in customs. Thank you London with your massive crowds. A quick snatch of my luggage later and I set off to the subway – or what residents call here the Underground. It would take some time for me to adapt enough to adopt the subtle differences in language between the US and UK, that's for sure.

Once aboard the train, I quickly located a comfortable looking seat and hugged my pillow close to me. Jet lag had slapped me hard in the face and I had trouble suppressing the urge to take a power nap. The only thing that kept me conscious ironically was a recent article in a forgotten paper beside me celebrating my father's recent accomplishments in getting Haiti the aid it so desperately needed after the earthquake while briefly commending my acceptance into the University College of London.

"Wendy Verarity (24) transfers to University College of London in prospects to follow her ambitions in Culture and Language. Ms. Verarity, a leading figure in the United States' Youth Senate Program and multiple international peace groups, states that her motive for crossing over boarders is to fully engulf herself in the experience. 'I find no better alternative than to study the splendid culture and language of Europe than in one of its most prestigious universities,' Verarity explains…" I read to myself, scoffing at my comments and wanting to burn the excerpt from the article. Really, it was unnecessary and totally off topic.

Luckily, by the time I placed the article back down on the seat beside me and returned a few texts to my friends back in America the train had reached its destination. I promptly exited the car and headed outside to wait for one of my father's acquaintances to arrive. I was to stay at this person's house until he arrived the next week to help me into my dorm and begin the process of 'my-only-daughter-is-going-to-college' fess once more. But don't worry. It wasn't as if I didn't know who I was staying with. I heard of him loads of times from father, who spoke very fondly of him, so the only issue lay in noticing him among the crowds.

It was then while I waited for the acquaintance to pick me up that I noticed her. A lady dressed from head to toe in the most outlandish pink you'd ever set your eyes on. Honestly I did a double take, not believing my eyes. I always considered London to be a fashionable place, but this lady seemed to go way beyond what I imagined. She even had a matching suitcase of the same hue. And I thought we Americans were obsessive…

Anyways, she waved her hands in a vain attempt to get a cab but none seemed willing enough to oblige. In a gesture of sympathy, I tried hailing one beside her and a few minutes later one strolled up.

"Here, take this one," I offered her.

"Oh thank you dear," She smiled and genuinely looked as if she might cry from the act, "You're an angel."

"No problem," I replied, stealing a momentary glance inside at the cabbie.

At that moment, an odd sensation rushed through me. My heart felt as if it were being rubbed the wrong way, making me instantly uneasy. But why should I be? He appeared as normal as any other driver and even gave a small, kind smile. Surely it was all pre-flight jitters right? Anyway, there was little I could do to stop the woman from climbing in. I mean, it's not as if I could just say, "Hey you shouldn't get into that cab because it gives off a super sketchy feeling." She'd blow me off for sure, heck _I'd_ blow me off.

Besides, a voice from behind me stopped any insane plan my head created from being executed, "Ms. Verarity?"

I turned to face a man dressed in attire similar to that of what I've seen figures such as Bill Clinton, Winston Churchill and Charlie Chaplin wear – a sleek black suit with a scarlet tie being its only splash of color. His stormy-blue eyes held the same effect as the eye of a hurricane, calm yet imposing an apprehensive weight that warned not to underestimate its bearer, while his casual stance and expression once more turned his persona around, making him an perplexing enigma by mere appearances. And if that wasn't enough to get my mind going, he leaned nonchalantly on an… umbrella? But it wasn't even raining. I began to reconsider some of the oddities I classified distinctly not English.

"Yes, that's me," I replied, "And you are?"

"Mycroft Holmes, one of your father's partners," he explained politely, placing a smile on his face, "A pleasure to finally meet you in person Ms. Verarity."

"Same here," I gave a weak smile back, noting his own's spurious tone, "My father has talked to me quite a bit about you. He thinks of you very highly actually."

"Is that so?" he responded, his emotions remaining consistent, "Mr. Verarity has spoken of you to me as well, although in a much less…professional manner." He paused, gesturing to his car, a sleek black vehicle, "Care to see where you'll be staying?"

I obliged, and followed him to the vehicle where the driver promptly exited and heaved my entire array of luggage into the trunk. Meanwhile, I did my best to find a comfortable seating position in the back, not knowing how long it would be to travel to Mycroft's house. I didn't suspect it'd be quick, especially factoring in the insane traffic the city contained. This would likely be the only time I used a car for transport simply due to its inefficiency.

Mycroft entered on the opposite side and thus began our silent – and might I add awkward – trip. Luckily, enough time passed for me to be able to adequately marvel at the city and its sights. Even if it hadn't, I doubted boredom would've enveloped me in the ever changing city, with all of its sights and sounds… A thought hit me then. I was entirely accustomed to a noise level that rarely exceeded that of a seldom passing train and other typical suburban sounds, a mere whisper compared to the bustle of city life. How on earth was I to focus or even sleep for that matter? Hopefully Mycroft's lodgings wouldn't be in the center of the city so that at least I'd have a few days to wade in rather than get swamped by it.

Halfway through the trip, I fidgeted, feeling someone's glance fixed on me with that weird sixth sense thing some people have. Briefly, I shot my eyes towards the rearview, yet the driver remained dutiful with his own glued to the trickling traffic before us. That left only one other person, considering the windows to the car were tinted enough to bar most peering outsiders. I peeked out of the corner of my eye, and sure enough spotted Mycroft doing the same.

Suppressing an uncomfortable shudder, I turned to him fully and spoke in an almost whisper-like level, as if trying to avoid shattering the silence but rather gently cracking it, "Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" he responded, sticking to an oblivious façade.

"I mean, you don't seem to be very comfortable. Is something the matter?" I repeated. An understanding blip of a smile formed as if I were talking to some scared child instead of the man before me. I quickly let it disappear, not wanting him to think I was belittling him.

"Oh no, I'm quite alright," he assured with a not-so-reassuring smile, "Going on excursions simply isn't my top course of action."

"Well then you should've told me," I huffed, perhaps startling his smile away, "If I'd know you didn't like driving about then I'd have taken a cab to your address rather than put you through such an action that you clearly find distasteful."

"There is no harm done. It's merely an act of welcoming," Mycroft responded lightly, recovering expertly from his faint semblance of mild astonishment.

"Still," I crossed my arms and directed my gaze to the door, feeling slightly ashamed for forcing my host into doing something he disliked yet angry at him for not saying so otherwise. Sure, I understood the principle of hospitality but it didn't mean I had to openly enjoy it while the other party was forced into a revulsive situation.

Mycroft paused and I could feel him scanning my actions, likely dubbing them below my supposed maturity. I expected him to make comment on it, but instead he spoke in a surprisingly calm manner, "If I had done that, what would've become of my own value of accommodating a guest?"

I turned back to him as he continued, "You seem to forget that you're no ordinary person, Ms. Verarity. You're the daughter of the head of the United Nations, one of the most important positions in today's time. If I were to go along with your preferred course of action, then not only would I be counted a brazen host who disregarded a direct request from the queen herself, but the reputation of England as a leading nation would diminish as well."

Well, awkward moment much. It's not as if I could just say I forgot that my father was head-honcho of the UN and that all those turning heads were for some ghost that ran down streets screaming 'We all scream for ice cream.' I mean, I could but I doubt it would have done anything more than digging my hole deeper than it already was. That and my already shaky profile in Mycroft's view – which I'm dead certain he had been updating since my arrival – could only handle a certain level of insanity, and it was only day one. Yeah, this was going to be an interesting week to say the least.

Salvation came just in time as we came to a stop outside what I could only presume to be Mycroft's lodgings – a quaint structure that appeared to be able to comfortably suit a family yet not be overly spacey to a single resident. I whipped out of the car, eager to distance myself from the conversation as much as I could manage without totally blowing off my host. However, it was quiet an ambitious plan considering he was the only one with a key to the place and knew his way around…

I nearly held my breath in apprehension of him snapping at me, yet he simply opened the door and welcomed me inside, upon which I marveled at the design. To describe it, I'd say the dwelling was a mix of contemporary refine with a twist of medieval warmth – like that of a noble lord or monarch deciding to move to the 21st century yet retaining his heritage through possessions that neither hindered nor took away from their advanced counterparts. And to top it off, the wide space and enormous windows allowed for just the right touch of light to complete the homey atmosphere, leaving me pleasantly content with staying for a time.

"Wow, you sure have a nice place," I murmured, unable to quench my curious eyes from taking in all that surrounded me.

Mycroft gave a smile and began leading me down a hallway, "Your room is this way."

Stopping at the end, he opened the leftward facing door to reveal a finely decorated room, fully equipped with a lush full-sized bed a top a mahogany stand with corresponding drawers and a desk facing towards the window that overlooked a patch of greenery in the city. The walls themselves were covered in books from top to bottom, giving the aura of a small study. Knowing Mycroft as I did now, I could only assume the room was a revised study room, seeing as his social standings appeared weak at best in my view.

"I hope this will sufficiently support your needs, and am sorry for any lingering dust you may happen upon. It has been some time since my last guest," he informed.

"No, no," I waved away the need for any penitent remarks, "It's very nice. Lovely actually. Did you design it yourself or maybe had someone else?"

"I held some influence in the matter," Mycroft responded, returning to the door but before departing stated, "Unpack and get accustomed for a moment. When you're finished we can discuss your future actions."

With that said, he closed the door, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. "Yeesh. It's as if he thinks I'm about to embark on some perilous journey never to come back or something."

Unpacking my belongings, I came to the rough conclusion that the name Holmes naturally came with a touch of the dramatic interest, not knowing then how my fledgling hypothesis then would soon mature into a fully supported theory upon meeting the second Mr. Holmes.

* * *

Oh boy. Can I just say I absolutely despise writing beginnings? It's like I was only meant to compose the middle and end, while just assuming my audience will pick up on those not-so minor details of the exposition. Believe me, for both your sake and mine I'm doing my best to get the start of this ride done and over with. Hopefully by the time we reach the climax of this roller coaster ride I'll still have some riders that didn't jump off to preserve their own sanity.

As for Mycroft's character, I know! I'm working on it... But might I add I feel quite creative in having my OC encounter the elder prior to the younger - although who knows, maybe a thousand other fics started this way as well. Anyways, I'll just leave it at a sorry for all of those I may have offended by portraying Mycroft in this light (if you truly are annoyed then contact me so I can fix it. Please and thank you) and by adding that he will play a majorish-minor role in this story as it progresses.

Yes, I went with Wendy for a name for my OC, and yes there will be references to the fairy tale. No need to keep that a secret. Yet if you think that is all there is too it, boy will I have a blast destroying that idea~

**If you liked, then drop a review or like c;**


	3. Pilot - Checkmate

Chapter 3

"Any questions?" Mycroft concluded promptly.

I stared back at him in nearly suppressed disbelief that trickled out of my widened eyes and semi-open mouth. He had just finished a very complex, in depth schedule, fully equipped with times and routes, that I was to adopt as my life for the future week. It even included an 11 o'clock curfew.

Seriously? A curfew? What, was I not 24 but 10? Come _on_. I gathered from what I heard that Mr. Holmes was very coordinated and orderly, but this was ridiculous. It closely rivaled that of Father's strict schedule of worldly tours and conferences, and border-lined a grounding restriction impounded on a reckless delinquent. Believe me, I may not be the most angelic, but I'm certainly no ruffian.

"No? Good. Then as for today-" he continued until I snapped out of my stupor.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I interrupted, holding out my hand to halt the continuation of his speech, "You can't seriously expect me to just sit around here all day for an entire week. I've only just arrived and am one step away from venturing into my new home before I implode from curiosity and 10 hour flight driven stir-craziness."

"Ms. Verarity, might I remind you that you're not on some carefree excursion, and that the allotted time you have here is for the benefit of your future in terms of both career and education. This schedule was created so that you may effectively utilize your time in the most efficient manner rather than squander it heedlessly," he responded curtly.

"I know, I know – and I thank you for the time you've spent creating it and coordinating all of this, but it simply won't accomplish much of anything for me," I countered, hardening my stance to combat his own, "If I'm to be cooped up here for a week straight my mind will decay from boredom rather than flourish in knowledge gathered from attempting to predict future events."

"I'm not attempting to foresee succeeding happenings," he argued, "I merely wanted to ease your transition by establishing a _loose_ agenda so that what is necessary may be fulfilled, and what is nonessential may be avoided."

"Loose?" I scoffed, "You call that," I pointed to the brick of an itinerary, "loose?"

"Factoring in potential fluctuations, yes," he confirmed.

I shook my head, "Mycroft, you can't expect me to comply to such a rigid schedule that – by its mere existence – conflicts with my very character. I don't want a life planed out to the very last minute, even if it allowed for optimal results. There would be no risk, no joy, no life. At best it would only prevent me from progressing and prove distasteful to your own expectations."

A momentary silence fell in which he seemed to contemplate his response and probably deem my explanation absurd and green while he was at it. In that stage of stillness, I caught sight of a well carved, granite chess board a few feet away. An idea began to take root in my head.

"How about we make a deal?" I offered, rising from my seat.

"Pardon?" Mycroft replied, ending his fixation on the ground diagonal to him and facing me.

"A deal," I reiterated, picking up the checkerboard adorned with multiple pieces and carefully maneuvering it onto the table resting between us – no easy feat considering the pieces wobbled from even the slightest tremor.

Once securely in place, I continued, "If you can beat me, then I'll comply to your plan with no complaints or outbursts whatsoever."

"Yet if you should prove victorious, I shall allow you the freedom of selecting a timetable of your own accord, correct," he finished.

"Pretty much," I smiled and sat down once more, "So, do we have a deal?"

"I hope you realize that such recreations as wagering foolhardily are beneath me," Mycroft warned, while I encouraged, "But…"

"So I cannot approve of authorizing a bet to ensue between us," he concluded.

"Oh come on Mycroft!" I protested, "Surely you have nothing to lose. I mean, you're a genius. How hard could it be to beat me? Besides, you're not risking something recklessly, only for sport… with some added benefits of course."

He gave me a stern look, not budging in the slightest to my whims. I sighed, changing pitch, "Look, all I want is something to distract me from the upcoming dull week I have in store. So please? It'll be the only thing I'll ever ask of you upon your success," I pleaded, going so far as to exhibit a small puppy-dog eyed expression – which I doubted would prove fruitful, but what the heck? Anything to give me a little leeway with the stubborn man.

Mycroft remained rigid, unaffected in the least by my antics, and why shouldn't he? Surely he's had to have dealt with his fair share of whiners in the realm of politics. I was mere child's play compared to what he's likely managed. However, I suppose I had some sort of mystery perk – perhaps due to bloodline? – and he ultimately gave in with a sigh as if deciding that agreeing with the childish action to be the lesser of two nagging thorns.

"Alright, let's get this over with," he complied.

"Great!" I cheered, all pouting washed away instantaneously as I shifted my chair closer to the table so as to not have to bear the weight of leaning over for every move, although the extra action would've been remedying for my restlessness, "Best two out of three. You first."

I paused, waiting for him to commence the mini tournament all the while fidgeting in glee. No movement followed, causing me to sequentially glance up at him. He gave me a scolding, unamused look – his previous smile long hidden behind a frown.

"Problem?" I asked, "What? Do you want me to go first?"

"Ms. Verarity, those weren't the terms of our agreement," he responded stringently.

"Come on, you're hung up on that?" He gave no comment. I sighed, "At least let me milk this for what it's worth. Best two out of three."

"I believe you agreed to only one favor," he pushed.

"Indeed, I did. But only if you won," I corrected, knowing full well he knew and was just trying to get me to give up the notion. A valiant – yet ultimately futile – effort on his part, though I applaud him for trying.

He frowned, but conclusively moved a pawn forwards, initiating our game. A grin lit my face and I had to try hard not to leap for joy. It probably would've resulted in him retaking his words and leaving me to sulk in a dark tunnel of boredom. In short: not something on the top of my wish list.

I won't dive into detail of the sport, but I must say it ended far quicker than I expected. Mycroft must really desire to end it as soon as possible and was making good headway. If I wanted the moment to last more than an hour I really had to pick up my game. He meant no jokes, I'd just have to do the same to the best of my ability.

Blinking, I accepted my defeat, "Well done! Ready for round two?"

I began to set up the board when I noticed my host giving me an odd look, as if debating whether or not my complexion was a pale-tan or tan-pale. Basically, it wasn't one with an air of confidence as most victors sported post-triumph. I genuinely couldn't explain why, so I resorted to question after making the first move and waiting for an amount of time.

"You alright there Mycroft?"

A smile concealed his expression. "Yes. Your move," he simply replied.

I made it, but kept up the conversation, "Really? Cause a moment ago you appeared rather lost. Is there something you'd like to ask?"

"Are you attempting to distract me?" he inquired, taking one of my pawns, "If that is indeed your strategy, then I'm afraid you'll have need of revision."

"No, no," I shot down the assumption and chuckled that he would let himself get to absorbed in the thought that it became physically plain to the sharp eye, "I only mean to ascertain your well-being. Return the favor, if you will." I took his pawn and quickly added, "But not in this sense."

"Oh? Care to elucidate?"

"You know very well what I mean," I replied, giving him a look that told I called his feigned unawareness, yet still clarified, "I want to return the courtesy you showed me – like how you went out of your way to accommodate me."

"As I mentioned previously, solely traditional hospitality and measures to safeguard my country's image," he brushed away my words.

"Really? I'd say it goes just a bit beyond everyday hospitality and certainly more personal than in regards to protecting your nation's reputation," I raised a skeptic eyebrow.

Mycroft tilted his head, "And what makes you say that?"

"Well besides coming yourself in person to greet me despite having at your disposal at least 20 other subordinates that could easily suffice to take me to you for a welcoming, moving around the furniture that surely was occupying my current lodgings that couldn't have been a very easy task, cleaning and re-stocking your fridge," I began to answer as he gave a three-fourths concealed look of suspicion at my up-most comment. I quickly added, "Yes, I know, or at least strongly suspect, you to have refurbished your selection of cuisine in the name of basic home keeping upon expecting guests. Or perhaps maybe so that a venture out into society could be avoided as I see you'd prefer not to undertake given your past comments on the topic. But back to the original discussion, the notion of objective hospitality is just incorrect – as proven solely by my sheets."

He paused as if trying to make out what I'd said truly came out of my mouth, that or because in the entire short time we've spent together, he'd probably reasoned such monologues beyond me. I agreed to a point, seeing as I didn't typically give out speeches outside of conference rooms or debates and was grateful for the respite to catch my breath.

"Your…sheets?" Mycroft finally stated, the words coming off strangely to him as evident of his expression.

"Precisely," I affirmed, "They're made of 350 thread count teal Sea Island cotton – the exact same as I had back in America but ultimately lost due to moving complications. Now unless people have taken to obsessing over my premier choice of bedding down to the thread count and color, you've contributed much more effort than can be classified as mere hospitality. I can only assume you recalled my father mentioning it a few years ago while he came to London for a meeting prior to Christmas. That was when he acquired the ones I previously had, and additionally he may have passingly touched upon the fact of the fate of those sheets while confirming everything to you."

Gah, I really was talkative today. I took a moment to take a breath and finished with a smile, "Either way, thank you. I'll do my best to return the kindness. But, again, not like this."

I moved my bishop, taking out his rook, and stated, "Checkmate."

I don't know if it was from the fact I beat him or that in those five minutes I covered more topics and expressed more knowledge than Mycroft deemed me capable of, but he genuinely stared at the board for a good 20 seconds straight to confirm my victory. Boy, I was just chock-full of surprises. Returning the favor there too I guess – and again, only day numero uno.

He recovered momentarily afterwards, blinking moisture back into his eyes and clearing his throat to buy time to find the right words I suppose. "Well done, seems your strategy wasn't as faulty as I assumed it to be," he congratulated, clearing and resetting the board for the final match.

"Are you still convinced about that?" I tittered, preparing my side, "I told you, my plan isn't to distract you. All that was just casual conversation, if you will."

"Casual? Rather exotic for the everyday exchange between two people," he remarked, taking the first move, "Although I must say it did manage to keep my attention occupied as opposed to the common discourse of the public."

"Good," I beamed, "Maybe after this week I can actually get you to enjoy spending time outside enough to get you to freely and willingly consent to venturing into the city at a time other than the vacant 3 o'clock."

"That's quite an ambitious feat," he chuckled in dubiety, "But rather than dream of that coming to reality, why not focus on the present game? I assume you still desire to win."

"Of course – and no slacking on your part for that matter. If I'm going to win, I want it to be real and not out of pity," I told him, and as a result a smirk lit his face.

From then on, our competition evolved into a dance of complex moves backed by intricate strategy with the steady buildup of chess piece casualties… or at least that's what it must've appeared to be like to an onlooker if we should have any. I mean, Mycroft maybe followed that logic, but I simply let myself sink into the moment, relishing in the carefree action of playing a game (although considering what was at stake, carefree may not be the best choice of words, yet I still felt the overwhelming sensation of tranquility).

Despite what my host may believe, I truly didn't aim to defeat him through such transparent a tactic as distraction. No, no. That was much too cliché and therefore dull. Instead, my true game plan was indeed much more simple-minded, yet that is where its advantage was – in the very enigma of its nature. It was a natural way of accomplishing things but vital if one wishes to remain alive. However, children appear to utilize it far more than the average adult, and the adolescent perhaps on par with the child. Do you know what it is? Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging this time around.

It was in the midst of our battle that I finally observed a peculiarity about my opponent other than his queer habit of keeping an umbrella in tow at all times. In a matter of personal opinion, I believed it to be something other than a real umbrella. Rather it was some super covert military weapon or what-not that he was assigned to protect incognito at ever moment lest something catastrophic occurred. That or I was just being overdramatic from basking in the fact that I finally made it to London and got someone like Mycroft to play a game with me in the first two hours of my arrival. Or because I was still delirious and recovering from jet lag. Who knows?

"Father never mentioned that you were in a relationship," I commented.

Mycroft gave me a perplexed look, "My, where do you form these abstract, remote deductions?"

I shrugged, "I don't know, but they don't seem that way to me. Must just have an eccentric way of thinking I suppose. But this one is simply because of that," I gestured towards the golden band on his right hand. "Although its more commonly placed on the left hand, in some cultures the ring is found on the right hand and countries like Argentina, the US and the UK are slowly conforming to the more Orthodox tradition. So see? Not entirely abstract as you claimed, though farfetched is relatively on target."

"I see," he nodded, accepting my explanation, "A very logical and completely understandable way of arriving upon that conclusion – yet ultimately incorrect, I regret to inform. Your father's lack of mention on the subject of my personal social life and interaction between any potential person of interest is not surprising seeing as I'm in fact not in any relationship of that manner, both currently and formerly."

I gave a confused look, "So why do you wear it?"

"Why do you choose to don a scarf?" he shot back and went further to explain, "Perhaps I'm partial to it, or wearing rings suit my taste."

"Alright, I'll take that," I nodded in understanding.

"You doubt my mentioned reasons?" he inquired.

"I feel as if there's more to it than that, but I could be simply extrapolating what I'm trying to see," I shrugged, "You know, like one of those riddles in which the answer is plain as day yet you're unable to find it due to overthinking and analyzing the clues."

"Ah, riddles. Such an amusing way to pass time," Mycroft mused, his features taking on a nostalgic aura, "I always held a particular curiosity towards them but nonetheless ceased to entertain such activities."

"Why?" I frowned, "Surely you enjoyed them, so why give it up? It's not as if they caused any harm. If anything they're beneficiary by helping you think out of the box."

"True, but I merely grew too preoccupied for such trivialities," he stated, "That and my brother held an obscure animosity for riddles, likely as a result of solving them only after I did."

"You have a brother?" I asked, raising my brows in surprise.

"Indeed, he lives here in London as well. Perhaps you'll encounter each other during your stay. Although, considering your different locations the probability of that is slim, and even if you happen to chance upon one another, I can't guarantee you'll enjoy his company."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Well, let's just say his expertise lies in the realm of detective work rather than social grace," Mycroft offered.

"Detective work huh?" I mused, "Sounds interesting. Maybe if I ever get a break from school I'll track this brother of yours down and see for myself what he's like in person," I grinned.

"I highly console you not to, but your decision not mine," he responded with a final hint of warning so as to scare me away from the prospect. But now that I figured out that Mycroft had a brother that lived in the same enormous city as I was in, there was no chance I'd let the opportunity pass me by. I wonder what he's like? Maybe similar to Mycroft? I didn't know if I wanted to see another person like him in the same room together – too much high-than-thou thinking.

"Yeah, well it won't be for some time at least. I presume when I finally catch a break I'll have likely forgotten him entirely," I said passingly, "That is, unless you'd be willing to introduce us."

"I'd rather keep you two apart as long as possible," he smiled.

"Understandable," I condoned, "I was merely giving you some options of where to show me while we're out and about this afternoon."

His smile gave way to my own. In his eyes one could plainly read something along the lines of 'Oh no you didn't.' Oh yes I did.

"Care for a stroll about London Mr. Holmes? It's a bit chilly out now so I recommend you wear a coat or something to keep warm," I instructed, standing to grab my own and leaving him alone to glance down at the chessboard.

As I walked I faintly heard him chuckle an old saying that appeared just as relevant here as it did on the other side of the Atlantic, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice-"

"Shame on you Mycroft," I finished, "Don't let the simplicity outsmart you."

* * *

Wheww! What a long chapter, and still no Sherlock yet! But rest assured, he'll definitely be in the next chapter c;  
As for updates, if you haven't already guessed, I update on weekends which may be subject to homework load. But yay for you guys! I have a three day weekend with No homework, so potential update on Monday.

**If you like, give a favorite or review c;**


	4. Pilot - Charlatan Grins

Chapter 4

"Ahh, the smell of fresh air… Isn't it wonderful Mycroft?" I smiled, stretching my arms out wide into the air in bliss, earning a soothing sensation for my stiff muscles and curious stares from pedestrians passing us by.

"Dear, the smog must be affecting your cognitive perceptions. We should return lest you progress further into delirium," the man gave a mock concerned frown.

"If that were the case then I'd have had symptoms when I landed," I corrected, turning to face him, "You're gonna have to put forth a bit more effort if you want to dissuade me from enjoying the vivacity of city life, Mycroft. Or you could simply just give up and let go. Your choice, although I'm partial to the second option."

I grinned and continued down the masses of people passing by, embodying the phrase 'a fish swimming up river' but without the figurative complications. A list of places to visit and revisit ranging from Hyde Park to the London Eye streamed through my mind. There was enough time, right? Yeah, I mean, it's only 1 o'clock – plenty of time. Although, should I wait a bit so that it could span the entire week and so not to leave me with unlimited-ish freedom yet nothing to do?

I glanced back at Mycroft, whose head popped up out of the waves attempting not to lose sight of me yet momentarily doing so in his pursuit every so often. Boy did he look annoyed. There was no way he'd ever let me drag him out again, that's for sure. So I guess that settles it. Time for 'shove as much fun and entertainment as humanly possible into one day' plan to commence.

"Come on Mycroft!" I said while pulling him through a bundle of teenage tourists, "We've got a ton to do and not much time to accomplish it."

"Oh?" he breathed, still in the middle of reclaiming his breath, "What do you hope to achieve exactly?"

"Everything – so come on, pick up the pace! Our first stop is just around the corner," I gleamed, jumping forwards, "Hurry! Hurry!"

I began to rush forwards as he called after, "Hasty feet will miss the way, I believe the proverb goes."

"Nice," I twirled around to face him, "It does mention something along the lines of patience, but I never pegged you as a religious type."

"Must one be partial to a spiritual belief to read the Bible?"

"No, but I know of a few die-hard atheists who wouldn't venture within a good three foot – or I guess it's a meter here – parameter of one. All I'm saying is that you have to be at least a bit interested in the material to put forth the effort required to study it – especially in the case of long, dense reads like Moby Dick, Crime and Punishment, or the Bible."

"Valid point, but to clarify explicitly, I prefer to refrain from such activities. The very principle of participating in theological groups is…" he paused, glancing momentarily at me, "not suited to me."

"Huh," I smirked, "Well no need to fret over it, we'll tackle that topic later on. As for now let's focus on what's in front of us – like Britto's pyramid over there," I pointed towards the object with Egyptian symbols and pictures in vivid colors, and began towards it, "Besides, the fresh air and exercise will do you a favor."

"What was that?" he asked, slightly disgruntled.

But I paid no heed. Nope, all of my attention pinpointed on achieving a perfect day of adventure before Mycroft imploded from prolonged exposure to the public or I short circuited from exhaustion. Regardless, determination fueled me forwards and I could count on it for at least three more hours. From then on, the friendly hand of caffeine would take over for the rest of the journey, making my plan nearly full-proof if I do say so myself. Sure, things could happen, but I was far too confident and stubborn to let this golden opportunity pass me by at the hands of discouragement.

Understandably though, my farfetched agenda remained incomplete, with a little more than half of the locations left pinned on the map I nabbed from a kiosk by the London Eye, where I chanced upon beautiful panoramas of a resident artist that managed to perk Mycroft's interests enough to actually comment on them. Through most of the journey, he seemed to drag himself from stop to stop, and even threatened to leave abruptly or make some excuse to go and have one of his assistants or underlings accompany me for the remainder of the day, but ultimately stuck around – probably accredited mostly to me countering with a threat to tell of his inhospitality to some official or whatnot. That sure did the trick, although I did feel a bit bad for playing the cheap card, especially when we toured the London Dungeon and the assistant person forgot to open up the hall of mirrors and we wound up circling around for a good half-hour, resulting in both of us resolving to depart (in my opinion I think Mycroft actually was a bit frightened of continuing on to the torture room anyways, which is understandable).

Yet I suppose some part of my host genuinely enjoyed the time spent mingling around like ordinary people – I for one did. That or he was just eager to complete it all as soon as possible since, by some odd circumstance, we managed to cut to the front of every line and rat maze we happened upon. Sure, it could've been my own rep at play, but then not many seemed to recognize me, and typically if I was found out I'd be forced away by the multitude of crazed fans rather than allowed passage. Fortunately though, it only occurred once during our attempt to view Shakespeare's home, where a very devoted admirer of mine with insane Eye-Spy skills spotted us clear through the crowd and vocalized his sheer glee.

Now don't get me wrong, I love my fans and all the wonderful comments and support they provide, it's just the borderline stalking that gets me. I mean, how would you like it if some random guy knew potentially more about you than you yourself? Just a bit creepy. Now add the fact that he can't stop boasting about possessing every published and non-published photo of you, and you get the gist of where I'm coming from. Yep, that's why celebrities and big names have bodyguards or a decent disguise people.

Anyways, by the time five o'clock came around a good chunk of the list prevailed, but we came to the mutual consensus of locating a reprieve for our agonized stomachs. Fortunately, the pain only lasted a few minutes as we located a small little bistro on the corner of Frith and Romily that quickly admitted us, allowing our feet some much needed rest all the while providing a nice atmosphere for afternoon tea. Our conversation remained small, as both of us honestly held more interest in the delicacies before us than patronizing out guts through talk. For once I didn't mind the silence. It actually carried an essence of tranquility with it – a moment's sanctuary from the world's bustling urban life that swarmed all around – as opposed to the previous awkward moments with Mycroft, who now, to my delight, appeared perfectly at ease.

Ultimately, it failed to stand as the only gratifying surprise I experienced at our outdoor, dapple sunlight coated table. Mycroft actually began a casual conversation – or, to be precise, as normal a discussion as people like us could manage, "Enjoying yourself?"

I looked over at him, startled by his voice into halting at mid sip of my tea, yet overwhelmingly joyful in the proceeding moment. Swallowing, I nodded, "Yep! I haven't felt this happy in… in, well, a long time. Although, I may just be so exhausted that I'm slap happy," I chuckled, adding evidence to my hypothesis, "How about you?"

He gave a small chuckle at my response, likely have grown accustomed to my eccentricities enough to find mild amusement from them. Well good. Better than strict, straightforward and formal.

"For once your observation isn't far off. Perhaps fatigue's effects are reversed for you, sharpening your attention to minor details of introspection. As for your inquiry, I find myself feeling particularly delighted, though not as vibrant as your expressed cheer," he punctuated with a smile.

There it was again, _the_ "smile." The one I observed countless times that day. One I knew all too well, and had witnessed many a person exhibit. In truth, existed in a state akin to a veil, displacing any and all reality it could muster, yet essentially failing to completely enshroud its contents. It presided as an existence that betrayed itself as well as its owner, covering both in a sly fabrication. For no happiness, joy or positivity presented itself past the slim upward pull of the muscles around the mouth. Rather, something contrary claimed domain, and if not for previous encounters, I'd likely never noticed. But then that's the realm of politics for ya, a swarm of the same "smiles" all around.

However, that is where I ceased my delving. To another of a more conspicuous or iniquitous manner, I'd continue digging until every last detail presented itself. But Mycroft was no villain, or at least it didn't appear so in my perception. In fact he'd assumed quite the opposite role in my eyes, becoming a friend/acquaintance-like figure to me, and I resolved not to risk shattering any possible connection we may have formed to gain otherwise private knowledge reserved to him and him alone.

Still, it was precisely due to that budding bond that I became prompted to relay my concern, but in a manner of caution so as to not startle the opportunity away.

"Why must you continuously contradict yourself?"

When he gave me a familiar look of befuddlement, I clarified, "You're always cavorting around in that mask of yours, hiding away how you truly feel as if revealing it would somehow leave you vulnerable or impaired indefinitely. Why? I realize it is somewhat of a necessity for your profession, but surely you needn't prolong the action and thus cause yourself more grief than warranted."

The look in his eyes from my soap-opera speech was exactly what I counted on: overwhelmingly unamused and annoyed. And who could blame him? Here I was lecturing a guy I'd only _just_ met about how to live _his_ life. Talk about pointing out the splinter in your neighbor's eye while being downright oblivious to the plank in your own. Honestly, if he hadn't pushed me to this extent, I'd never have gone in that direction. Indicating other people's problems while blatantly ignoring your own outright boils my blood, and the fact that I was in fact doing the exact action, albeit a planned charade, made my skin crawl as if I were some cat getting its fur rubbed the wrong way.

In all, not the best of commentaries to present, yet my lines were not totally erroneous to my own principles. I genuinely desired to find out why someone with a seemingly secure position and identity as Mycroft would opt to put forth the effort to conceal his emotions at all times. I certainly could find suitable support to his method, but surely the cons outweighed the pros in this situation. I just couldn't seem to wrap my head around it. Thankfully though, it appeared my melodramatic words did the trick, although that "smile" of his remained.

"Ah, another one of your queer inferences. I do believe they're becoming quite pervasive – not the best of marks to be exhibiting I'm afraid," he responded.

"Yes, yes. Though I take them to define me as unique instead of dully normal or prone to insanity – which is an interesting thought, but decidedly for another time," I matched his lighthearted tone, but only for a period. The humor drained away to a heavyweight manner in mere seconds as I continued, "See? You're doing it right now, smiling when you're plainly irritated – or, to put it more generally, _not_ happy."

"Am I? And who are you to determine my personal conceptions of events?" he straightforwardly addressed, smile barely wavering yet the tempest turning in his eyes.

"No one," I shrugged, "But I'm opt enough to distinguish between genuine and façade. And I care enough to point it out to you."

He made no reply, instead choosing to study me with tattered-veiled intensity that otherwise would've scared the crap out of me had we not been in the presence of so many potential witnesses. Nevertheless, I held my gaze constant and even began to pity him. If he couldn't be honest with himself, how could he expect to be true in the company of others? All that was leftover was himself and his mask – a very lonely existence indeed, and not one I'd wish upon anyone.

Regardless, I easily concluded the slim possibility of me getting through to him in a measly hour. The best option left was to let time take over the fight until the topic resurfaced once more, assuming I'd remain around by then of course.

Sighing in submission, I averted my gaze at last, "I don't mean to berate you like a child Mycroft, and if that's the air you got, please forgive me. All I wish is to know the real you instead of some counterfeit – and wow that was cheesy. I blame exhaustion," I laughed at myself, shamefully avoiding his direction and heavy silence.

Well, there goes another relationship down the drain – and a promising one at that. Ah, well, long week here I come! Perhaps I could befriend the dust in my room or that assistant girl or some random-

A muffled sound of some weird, freaky hybrid of chortling and sharp exhales tore my concentration from self-pity and directed my focus to the source. It was Mycroft – or at least it looked like him, sort of. His face flushed due to lack of available oxygen since his hand was obscuring his mouth, and the corners of his scrunched eyes were noticeably dampened. Miniscule fidgets rippled from his body and forced him to relinquish his posture. The whole scene, frankly, scared the hell out of me. Only one thing passed through my mind: Oh crap. I think I broke him.

"Ohmygosh are you alright?" I spluttered, hesitant to suddenly act in case it threatened to further the strange happening, "Do you need help? A glass of water? Or a napkin? How about sugar, or a doctor, or a blanket? Some air? Space? Or-Or…" I flailed about to find a remedy to his odd behavior, yet only adding to the madness.

At some point I offered my fork, which held no helpful purpose whatsoever. By hey, I was desperate. In the end I found myself praying – or rather pleading – to God to stop the insanity and even make myself appear the fool and have my entire discussion fall on deaf ears, never to resurface again, if only to just get him back to how he was before. Anything other than the horror before me. Anything.

"My, you haven't changed a bit," he finally managed, putting an end to my crazed struggle.

I stared at him warily, unsure of his state of being. For all I knew, the simplest of words like 'banana-grams' could send him back into delirium, yet I managed to squeak out, "W-What?"

"Oh you are definitely a queer one, Ms. Verarity, I'll say that much," he continued, wiping the corners of his eyes with a kerchief, "I do find some facet of your sermon to be worthy of contemplation, but I'm afraid most of your concern is unfounded as I am perfectly content with my current lifestyle."

"A-Alright," I quickly concurred, eager to part from the turbulent topic while things were somewhat promising.

But Mycroft wasn't quite finished addressing all the points of my lecture. Oh great, what had I gotten myself into? Stupid impulses and lack of control! Once more, I defer to enervation's fault.

Fortunately, however, it wasn't in the direction I'd thought, "Your request for me to be open to you is likely a naïve one, but I'm willing to comply upon seeing for myself your awareness of what it entails, for I cannot guarantee you'll be fond of my true character in regards to your own personality traits," he warned.

Finally I seemed to catch my bearings once more and steadily replied, "Well yeah. I wasn't asking for you to dote on my every action and thought. Just the idea of that repulses me!" I shuddered to prove my distaste, "No, I don't care if we don't see eye-to-eye. In fact I expect it, and eagerly so in any relationship I form, because without there'd simply be nothing of interest to discuss at all."

"Indeed. Then I'll attempt to put aside professional habits in your presence, if the situation is deemed appropriate of course," he agreed.

"Certainly," I smiled, and for a moment the discussion seemed to end there, but then a thought came to me and I fervently acted upon it, "And we can start right now."

"Oh?" he tilted his head, not quite catching my drift.

I gave a small chuckle. "I mean, seeing as we've basically agreed to be real to each other it implies that before we weren't Mycroft Holmes or Wendy Verarity, but two other people. So now that we're actually meeting for the first time, we might as well greet one another as is the proper thing to do," I explained, extending my hand, "I'll start. Hello, I'm Wendy Verarity. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He shook his head but nonetheless couldn't suppress an amused huff. "Alright, I'll play along," he responded, taking my hand in his, "Mycroft Holmes, and the pleasure is mine Ms. Verarity."

"Just Wendy is perfectly sound," I corrected, attempting to push things along a bit faster out of excitement.

"One step at a time, Ms. Verarity," Mycroft rejected the notion.

I frowned, unhappy that things would proceed in a painstakingly slow pace. But the sour feeling only lasted a few seconds as a smile – a real, honest-to-God, genuine smile – formed on his face. It was small by all measures, but I could care less. Boy did I beam like a silly kid walking into the living room to see thousands of presents on Christmas Day or suddenly have discovered Charlie's chocolate factory. The day was a rollercoaster ride, that's for sure, but things seemed to end with a high note.

Or at least it would have if things ended there. You see, fate is a funny thing, what, with throwing curve balls at you and what not. Don't look now, but a bosey is coming and there's no stopping it.

"Afternoon, care to share your cuppa with a parched passerby?" a man abruptly addressed, approaching our table and deftly plucking my cup from where it stood, "Thank you."

I blinked, caught off guard by the seemingly arbitrary occurrence, "Excuse me?"

In reply, he took a sip.

* * *

Ahh, this chapter... Now I understand why people chose to have an OC meet Sherlock or John first rather than Mycroft. Goodness, please don't butcher me. Save the torches and pitchforks for tomorrow when I come back to revise this mess. As for now, it's late and, like Wendy here, I'm exhausted and borderline slap-happy. Good night, and Happy Eat More Chocolate Day**  
**

**Review or favorite if you like c;**


	5. Pilot - Fans

Chapter 5

"Much thanks," the man exhaled, his throat finally satisfied it seemed.

Well good for him. I'm glad at least one of us felt perfectly content, cause I for one couldn't make sense of anything – and I won't even go into what Mycroft's reaction looked like underneath that façade of his. It was bad enough that the effects of exhaustion attacked my mind until it was reduced to its current semi-coherent state, but now it had the added strain of this bloke to deal with. Consequentially, the overload crashed my entire cognitive process and resulted in my delayed reaction. Once more, thank you Mr. Stranger.

Once allowed a few breaths to reboot, annoyance trickled back at the forefront. I truly thought I'd left such arbitrary antics back home in America, deeming them contrary to English custom. Either I was incorrect in my assumption or this guy simply rebelled against any and all norms. Chances are the truth rested somewhere in between, yet it still left me at odds and ends.

"Uh, you're welcome?" I finally got out, not bothering to conceal my confusion. Please, my mind could only handle so much. And besides, that simply required too much effort then I was willing to give at the moment. "And you are…?"

"Someone for another day," Mycroft cut the man's response off, earning him an irked glance from Mr. Stranger as he rose from his seat and pulled me past the man.

Obviously someone didn't like weird men randomly popping in to take a swig of lady grey tea. That or the fact that this guy was a stranger, or both. Who knows? Anyhow, totally understandable. You know, stranger danger. Don't get into the car with the creep who offers to let you pet the puppy while nomming on some candy sort of deal.

But this guy failed to emit such vibes. He was queer, that's for sure. And rather than putting me off, he seemed to attract my interest the longer I studied him. Just something about those eyes… What color were they? Blue? Green? A mix of the two? And how could they possibly belong to such a klutz? They shone with intelligent intensity that gleamed with an alertness that made me doubt seeing him stumble so uncontrollably into our table. Additionally, they reminded me of Mycroft's grey-blue eyes, except where his lacked noticeable enthusiasm and drive, this guy's was bustling like a steam engine about to run off the tracks. Quite suspicious indeed, if I may add.

In short, he was like me: an enigma. Now that I realized this, there was no way I'd leave without figuring him out. Sure, Mycroft wouldn't be too pleased upon prolonging our time with the odd man, but he'd have to deal with it. My curiosity was perked and needed quenching. That and although my teenage years were behind me, the devious impulse of rebellion and adventure was still in tack.

"Alright, but shouldn't we pay first?" I innocently asked.

"I believe this will suffice," he quickly answered, throwing a few bills on the table and continuing his getaway.

Crap. Now there was no viable excuse I could conjure to stay a while longer. Plainly I've never met Mr. Oddity, so claiming to recognize him would surely backfire even if he went along with my act – which would be a bit creepy, but I'd be gratefulish nonetheless. Claiming to have forgotten something didn't work seeing as all I brought was my cell, which was comfortably in my hoodie's pocket. Opting to stall by leaving a tip was out as well since Mycroft left quite a hefty sum on the table. Lucky day for the waiter, not so lucky day for me. I suppose my curiosity would remain parched… Or so I thought. It appeared the strange man shared my will to continue the conversation.

He snatched my other hand, jerking both of us to a stop. We both looked – or rather I looked and Mycroft glared – back as he started, "Please, just a moment. I wish to repay her for her kindness. Surely you won't deny me the expression of gratitude."

"Not at all!" "I'm afraid we must," Mycroft and I replied simultaneously.

I turned to give him an annoyed look that demanded a cessation to his antics. He responded with an equally dissatisfied expression. It was nice to see him keeping his word on maintaining honesty in regards to emotions towards me, but it did little to settle me down. Timing man, timing. Sleep deprivation may have made me more intuitive, but it completely destroyed my luck.

"Are you forgetting your own agenda? Last I checked, a great sum of activities remained to be completed," his casual tone disguised his ill will towards prolonging our stay with the man any further.

"I'm certain a slight detour won't irreversibly affect our plans," I countered, hardening my gaze for a moment before turning to Mr. Oddity and softening it, "Please do continue. I'd hate to leave you with unrequited feelings of reimbursement. Perhaps something simple? Like…" I trailed off until I spotted a sweets display inside the store, "Getting me that muffin, the one with the orange liner. Or, if that's too much, telling an interesting tale such as how you got to sipping on my cup of tea. Your choice," I smiled.

A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes. Great, I wasn't scaring him away. Perfect! Mycroft probably was rolling his eyes, but I could care less. My curiosity was saved. Salvation at last!

"Thank you for your kindness," he gave a small bow of gratitude and flashed a smile of his own.

At the sight of the expression, my glee melted faster than snow in the height of Floridian summer with 100°F lows, or about 38°C for those on the metric scale if anyone was wondering. I had to chomp down on the inside of my cheek to stop an exhale of disappointment from escaping – although the resulting watery eyes didn't particularly help my cause either. But really? _Really_? I _just_ finished dealing with one and another pops up not even a minute later. It seemed I couldn't catch a break, so I prepared to leave with Mycroft. Sure, it might spur him to act with an air of arrogance, but I honestly didn't have the energy to deal with the topic again for another week, let alone minute. Still, I was disappointed in departing from such an interesting person, but could only glance back at his "smile," so much like Mycro-

Wait…. Just like? Again? Yellow flags going up.

"Who did you say you were again?" I inquired, giving him a suspicious look over.

"I'm afraid you're imagining things, I never mentioned my name. Not surprising as you clearly have only just arrived from America – Florida, I presume from your southern accent and monosyllabically pronunciation of 'orange' a moment ago – and denied you mind rest for, eh," he tilted his head from side to side as if weighing two thoughts, "eighteen hours, give or take an hour due to the cramp in your neck. Really, you had a luxurious first class seat and didn't bother to make use of the extra room and lower your chair for added comfort? How wasteful. It would've lessened the impact of jet lag on your stress levels and relieved some of that under eye colouring at least."

His speech transformed from friendly-casual to dissecting and borderline intimidating as he explained his observations with sterile precision, all the while seemingly gaining three inches from the space separating us, forcing me to lean back ever so slightly. Once more I was caught off guard, yet the new change of tone began to settle things in place ever so neatly. All the same, in spite of the circumstances and creepy feel of his unforeseen knowledge of my previous activities of the day, my interest was a blazing fire by now, and unfortunately for Mycroft I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Huh," I mused, turning more towards the man, "Anything else you want to add?"

"I highly advise otherwise," Mycroft intervened, giving one final attempt.

"Yes, and we'd still be here yet under duller and more silent circumstances until this man stalled enough in retrieving his wallet to engage another topic," I rolled my eyes, "Instead of going through that unpleasant scenario, I'd much rather continue on our present, more amusing course. Wouldn't you?"

"No," he simply replied.

"Oh, ignore him. He's just eager to return to the solitude of his lodgings," I lightheartedly waved away the invisible thoughts while returning my attention to the man, "Please do continue, and quickly if I may. I don't know how long I can keep him," I winked.

Although slightly victorious in concealing his own surprise at my proposal – which I suppose arose from others' rejection in the past to even meet the guy let alone ask him to progress in the frankly rude and disarming onslaught – the man continued, starting by scanning myself in a manner less disguised than before, "You value intangible qualities of personality and morals over physical appearance, likely due to some lack of satisfactory returns in the past but ultimately atypical of someone of your generation."

I nodded, accepting his drawn conclusions, "Nice. A bit harsh but at least you're being honest and straightforward, I'll give you that. So, how'd you tell?"

"Your mismatched attire," he gestured to my red sweatpants and made his way up to my yellow tank partially visible under my grey hoodie and pale scarf, "while also an indicator of your recent travels, additionally reveal your preference towards personal comfort over more professional and public appealing outfits suiting your social status. You don't care for others' opinion of yourself, and more specifically your mien, so you must hold significant confidence in either your rank or your own accomplishments. My money's on the latter. Additionally, you own a per. From the fur on your left shoulder I presume a small one, likely a petite feline or, although against statistics, a of the rodentia order. Still, if such were to be the case in regards to the latter, it would correlate with more hoydenish tendencies on your part, as well as a closer bond to your father instead of mother, probably due to work. As you know, hard to get by these days without a job and we all know how much hours a nurse puts into her routine."

I chortled in amusement, sparking another inquisitive look from the man that distinctly begged an explanation, so I answered, "Wow, that's pretty amazing."

"Really?" he raised a brow, even more startled and somewhat wary than before.

"Yeah, I mean, you can say all that in a single breath? Dang. You must be a swimmer or something," I chuckled, and then shook my head to clear the confusion in the room. Poor guy, Mycroft may be accustomed to my own oddities by now but he was just getting started. "But enough of my fascination in probably unsupported claims. My pet preference and personality aside, why do you presume I am of the higher social class and flew first class for that matter? I could've simply won a trip of sorts and live an average life, for all you know."

"No, your posture is much too refined for the typical middle echelon resident," he recovered quickly while shaking his own head to dismiss my words, "Only parents with a strong will and motivation derived from a pressuring public eye would drill such manners of conduct into their child to the extent where she continues to exhibit the formality several years after leaving the house. Although your current bearing is slightly loose, indicating the rising dominance of your own values over past expectations, it nonetheless signifies your status. And added with your hands," he turned mine over in his own, "the proof is almost overwhelming. You see, a normal working class person of your age would have formed callouses by this point from entry level occupations that require physical input across the board, yet yours are smooth. And why not? It's much simpler to live at home and get support from Mommy and Daddy than go through the effort to obtain a dull, hardworking job. However, your being here tells of a displeasing outlook on that lifestyle. Probably out of the equally boring circumstances of mulling about days on end with nothing to do. But why start now? And so far from home? Simple, you tried already and failed in America – deeming it too close instead of the difficulties of rigorous university life, as taken from the callous on your right ring finger that, while also indicating your dextral preference, complements the conjecture of a busy college life with multiple essays likely spurring from an interest in literature and recently completed exams, along with the extensive array of travel documents needed upon entry to this country and wrapped together with the ridges of stress clearly noticeable in your nails. I advise painting them over in clear polish, since you're obviously not the type to coat them with any vibrant color, if you wish for such knowledge to remain with you alone."

Whew. The guy could talk. And once more, without losing his breath in the slightest! No wonder Mycroft was repelled by him. He could barely put up with the excited chatter of tourists in line for three minutes, so this fellow must've really appalled him with back-to-back soliloquies. But I had to hand it to this guy, he was good, better than what I've seen for ages. Perhaps I'll keep an eye out for him in the future in case the silence of Mycroft's flat gets to be too daunting.

"Wonderful, wonderful," I gleamed, and would've clapped had either gentleman released their grip on my hands. They probably were awaiting the chance to either take off, in Mycroft's view, or prevent me from doing so until whatever purposes were met, as in Mr. Soliloquy here. "You were very accurate in your deductions. Just a few tweaks here and there and you'll be famous. But no worries, you still preformed marvelously, and can forget about the muffin. Consider your debt paid in full."

"Did I make a mistake?" he inquired, narrowing his eyes to retrace where any blunders may have occurred.

"Unfortunately so," I remarked, "For one, you never really answered my question. You left out the potential of abnormalities arising in all classes where an individual assumes a more proper standard of living in order to gratify feelings of pride and honor, so my choice in posture doesn't necessarily indicate I'm of a higher class. Secondly, I opted to wear this style of clothing – which isn't at all mismatched, although I understand seeing as knowledge of Floridian universities isn't commonplace or particularly useful here – not solely out of rebellion against modern fashion, but out of a desire to stay incognito, if you will, as my own reputation has grown somewhat exponentially in recent years. Next, you were only slightly off in your presumption of my choice of animal companion since I have a flying squirrel. I advise you stick with your gut the next time around when presumptions arise, for if you had you'd be correct. But just because I prefer smaller, less popular pets than most of my gender, doesn't mean I have a stronger affinity towards my father than my mother. Those feelings stem elsewhere and I won't divulge in the reasons today."

A look of disappointment crossed his vision at the holes in his observations, and I gave a small squeeze of his hand to prompt him to look at me once more. "I'm afraid I must abide to Mycroft's wishes, seeing as another break in the action isn't likely to occur anytime soon and he probably won't be able to endure another round of this. But I will leave you with this," I finished, reclaiming my hand from Mycroft and scribbling down on a napkin before handing it too the man with a wink, "Have a splendid day."

He glanced at the message all the while grumbling as if berating himself for forgetting something, "Ambidextrous."

I gave one last amused look and returned my focus on Mycroft, who mercifully persevered the entire spectacle and at last seemed relieved to finally depart. Odds are we were going to head back to the flat, or he'd go back at least. And I don't blame him. All of this must've left him exhausted. If he chose to depart, then I'd let him, but only this once – I say as if he'd actually agree to any of my plans ever again. Sheesh, people these days.

With this all in mind, I held no restraint in my disenchantment as I spoke to him, "Honestly Mycroft, you made him out to be so much better than what I've witnessed. Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed in that brother of yours. He held so much promise, but I suppose will have to settle for mildly impressive. And as for you Mycroft, speak up next time when someone you recognize pops in. Don't flat out avoid him either, especially in this man's case. He's your brother for goodness sakes, not some virus."

Both simultaneously preformed a synchronized double take. They really shouldn't hold themselves so high above everyone and unreadable. Please, anyone could catch the resemblance in cognitive process, keen observations, and similar reactions affiliated with siblings. Although, the true give away was Mycroft's corresponding desires, aforementioned back during our chess tourney and subsequent actions, creating a clear picture of their relationship. Man, I was on a roll! Maybe I should take tests with sleep deprivation way more often. No one would ever guess my secret, that's for sure.

Finally, the brother gathered himself enough to speak, "Disappointed?"

"Yes, yes," I affirmed, "All that time you spent memorizing Wikipedia information and you couldn't even bother to actually figure it out yourself," I shook my head, "At least you could've read the paper or, hey, talked to your brother if you wanted to see me."

"What makes you think I looked up anything? And that I wanted to see you?" he frowned, clearly displeased with my response.

"Please, I've seen enough fans like you to tell a true detective from an amateur search engine user. All your 'deductions' were simply retained facts in your head with a few minor conclusions drawn here and there for effect," I sighed and began to walk away, "I do truly hope next time you'll be more convincing, and you can start with what I gave you. Until then, I wish you well Mr. Holmes," I waved without looking back, feeling his stare bore into my back yet ultimately brushing it off.

Although I was disillusioned in my perspective on the other Holmes, I couldn't help but smiling. He may have indeed looked all that stuff up, but there was a chance he was just as brilliant as his brother. It all depended on his take of the note I left him – that and if he had the patience and will to meet up and talk with me once more. Even I found myself lacking in reuniting, but a small flicker ignited in me, causing hope to form of the situation coming to pass. All I could say was that the Holmes family sure had a unique pair of brothers. I wonder how the holidays played out?

* * *

My goodness Sherlock has some lines! Gah, they were a pain to write let alone speak out (poor Cumberbatch with those enormous speeches).  
I hope you like though! I'll probably come back and revise, so reviews are helpful! :D

**Review or favorite if you like c;**


	6. Pilot - Déjà Valise

Chapter 6

"What goes up but never comes down, and everyone has one?" I murmured the lines of the riddle wearily.

My feet waywardly tumbled to and fro, threatening to trip the other yet doing so in a manner that portrayed a funky looking dance. The pain of consistent travel dulled by exhaustion trailed up my body but I kept going. Where to? Well I don't know. It was my first time in London alone with no sense of direction, courtesy of Mr. Sleep-Deprivation. But what about the map or my cell phone? Yeah, well you see the wind snatched the map while my faithful GPS died twenty minutes ago – leaving me stranded in some random street in all of London. Yep, my life in a nutshell, fully equipped with self-conversations powered by 20 straight hours of consciousness.

"I don't know," I breathed, taking a moment's rest to lean on the iconic red telephone box, "An umbrella?"

The thought prompted me to Mycroft for no apparent reason and I sighed. From my pocket I drew forth its meager contents: my deceased phone, a jangle of American change, ticket stubs and other articles of paper, and… Hm? Where was it? Oh come on! I couldn't have lost it. I mean, I _just_ got it for peat's sake!

Graciously, my stress levels were only on the verge of hair loss when I noted the item mingled in with the array of coins. Oh gosh… I rubbed my face in disbelief and self-criticism all the while attempting to get some increased blood flow to my weary brain. I really needed to sleep.

Glancing half-consciously down, I turned the key over in my fingers, recalling Mycroft's words shortly before his departure about an hour ago. And yay exhaustion for providing blurred visuals to accompany the recollection:

_I had just rounded the corner when Mycroft finally snapped out of whatever business he still had with his brother and, as I predicted, went on to explain his sudden change in schedule that arose not so unexpectedly after the family reunion._

"_I'll arrange for one of my subordinates to rendezvous with you at Piccadilly-" he began, taking out a small notebook, whose purpose likely laid in revising his own schedule. My goodness, I really needed to work on him a bit more. He was way too legalistic about everything. Perhaps I'd hide the notebook, and say something along the lines of him misplacing it… Yeah right. And then the sun would decide to shine blue. Still, the prospect remained very entertaining, especially in the upcoming free time I acquired._

_First things first though, I needed to get out of babysitting duty. "Whoa there, you want me to meet this guy in Piccadilly?" I raised a brow, "You do realize the place is crowded on a normal day right? You must. I mean, even I know that, and I don't even live here."_

"_Correct, and the congestion of civilians is ideal for a secure assignation," he responded, returning his attention to the book, "If you begin your trek now, you'll reach the meeting point in approximately fifteen minutes given the average time and flow of traffic lights and pedestrian walkways. Once there, you shall wait until-"_

"_Until my babysitter arrives?" I huffed, crossing my arms._

"_Ms. Verarity…" he began with a disapproving gleam in his eyes._

"_Just hear me out," I started, not wanting to initiate another debate while daylight slowly drifted from my grasp. Luckily he seemed to relax enough to boost confidence in my follow-up, "I may be a tidbit rusty on London hotspots, but requiring some escort is a bit redundant don't you think? I'm more than capable of handling myself and if I get lost," I whipped out my phone, "My handy-dandy GPS will serve much better than some stranger I frankly don't wish to meet."_

_He gave an unconvinced huff, "I believe it vacuous to put so much faith into a flawed piece of technology, especially one with only half a battery remaining."_

_I echoed his pique with a huff of my own, "_Only_ half a battery? Obviously you're not accustomed to the ways of conservation. Half a battery can easily last me a full day – assuming I only preformed minimal tasks I'll admit – yet still enough. Were you going to suggest I make use of some other, perhaps archaic method of finding my way? Cause believe me, I'm well versed in how to use a map by myself."_

_Mycroft's annoyance appeared to be on the rise, the proof lying in his now crossed arms and look akin to an elder sibling's vindictive stare. Regardless, I kept my case standing as long as I could manage. No way would I put up with it! Surely he realized that even if I did comply with the arrangement it was only a matter of time until I ditched the guy – an easy feat in a bustling city. Hopefully Mycroft could come to the conclusion that letting me off the leash proved much simpler and less burdensome than attempting to keep me under surveillance, because I truly didn't believe I could squeeze out enough energy to stand my case if things prolonged themselves any longer. Apparently he shared my desire to quit dawdling around and get productive. _

"_Very well," he exhaled deeply, plunging a hand into his coat pocket, "You may continue on your own. But, I expect your prompt return no later than midnight," Mycroft sternly instructed, giving me a look that demanded no competition._

"_Of course," I beamed, nearly bursting with excitement. _

_I'd achieved the impossible! I mean, it's not every day you can get someone as inflexible as Mycroft to agree to your side three times in one day. Luck? Nah, I don't believe in such things. I do, however, have the inclination that my sleep depravity influenced matters a bit – as absurd as that may seem. But enough thinking, time to get moving!_

_Before I could make my escape, my host halted me, "Not just yet," he instructed, prompting an inquiring glance from me, "Aren't you overlooking something?"_

_I rummaged my head for the solution but came up empty handed, "Uh, no?"_

"_My, perhaps letting you venture off in solitude is a blunder," he sighed, "How do you expect to enter the flat?"_

"_Simple, you'll surely be there before me and let me in. Now may I go?"_

"_You assume that I'll return prior to you, but what if your conjecture proves false?"_

"_I don't know. I'll wait outside."_

"_In the middle of London? Not a very keen decision."_

"_Please, I've been in sketchier places," I scoffed.  
_

"_That may have prevailed then, but currently is an entirely different circumstance," Mycroft warned._

"_Alright then, what is your proposal?" I frowned, growing impatient. _

"_Only a better solution, assuming you don't misplace it that is," he simply replied, handing me a golden key, which by its pristine state had barely seen any use. And why would it? I doubted Mycroft handed out spares to random strangers on a daily basis, or to guests for that matter._

"_As for expenses," he continued, pulling out a blue twenty euro note and handing it to me, "This should suffice."_

"_Thanks, I'll try my best to avoid purchasing every shiny souvenir and make it last," I winked, although Mycroft remained rigid as ever. "Sheesh, lighten up a bit. It was only a joke," I chuckled, commencing my departure._

_He shook his head as a cobalt vehicle pulled up beside us, "Midnight, don't be late or-"_

"_Or I'm pretty much grounded," I grinned, "Don't worry. I'll be back before then."_

"_I'll hold you to it," he gave a wry smile._

"_Like I'd expect any less," I smiled, depositing the loot in my pocket and waving over my shoulder, "Don't wait up for me!"_

"Nah, too cliché and besides, not everyone has an umbrella," I finally concluded in resonance with my stomach growling.

Man, I needed food. Tea was hours ago and the last thing I ate prior consisted of funky tasting airplane breakfast that left an even stranger bile behind. My eyes scanned the area to locate a suitable place where £20 and some spare American change could get me a nicely portioned meal. Although, driven by my appetite, I seriously considered withdrawing my praise of the smaller meal sizes despite health implications. Besides Chicken Cottage, nothing fit my slim budget, so I resolved to have my first meal there.

That's when the oddities started up. Great. Just great. The last thing I needed was some out of whack occurrences plaguing my mind. Might as well send me off to the asylum when I could still walk while we're at it.

Moments before entering the Chicken Cottage, the land line inside rung. Yeah, I know. A phone ringing inside a food shop. Big shocker huh? I agree, except this wasn't the manager's or drive-thru's extension, it served for public use. Now I'm not some genius, especially in my current condition, but a public land line ringing is just a bit sketchy don't you think? I mean, who calls a random ambiguous line? Obviously someone who doesn't give a crap who they talk to, or on the more malevolent side, not someone you want to have a casual conversation with at 21:00.

A few meters away, another spotted the sketchy occurrence. I nearly jumped for joy, not explicitly because he noticed it but rather his reaction confirmed I wasn't hallucinating or at least not alone in crazyland – and yes, it makes a difference.

We both glanced at each other as if to confirm our observation, and simultaneously returned our gazes to find a worker approach the phone. Brave soul. I found myself torn between warning him not to answer lest he get tangled up in some conspiracy or what-not, and letting things play out for entertainment purposes. What? It wasn't like I'd let him get killed. I'd just wait around long enough to get a good taste of the drama first, but don't blame me. Blame the boredom, or sleepiness. Or, hey, blame Mr. Holmes the younger wherever he was.

Just as the man's hand touched the phone, however, the ringing abruptly ended in a fashion that signaled the other line hanging up rather than timing out. And the mystery just kept building. Honestly, could it pick any worse of a time? It was hard enough to fight off the urge to pick a corner and take a snooze without the shady phone ringing off the hook.

Speaking of calls and public lines, I suppose I could've called Mycroft to send a ride over or something. But then there was a problem. Not that I didn't have the cash to do so, rather the issue lay with the basis that his number rested in my dead phone's memory. Goodness, technology these days… Sure you could get a bunch of people's numbers programmed into your device but the moment you part from such luxuries that special feature might as well be thrown away. No wonder my grandmother always berated me for overdependence on electronics.

Still, even if I had recalled his number, there stood little chance I'd call. Please, and suffer through an 'I told you so' talk upon our next meeting? No thank you. I'd rather crash at some church or street corner than that.

My stomach's growling once more prompted me from my thoughts. Right, starving away here a few feet from a food store. How ironic would that be? I chuckled at the thought and proceeded forwards, only to get interrupted once more.

_Ring ring!_

My gaze shifted to the iconic red telephone box beside me. You're kidding me. Again? Across from me, the same guy shared my puzzlement and suspiciously looked around. Good, he caught on to the sketch too.

"I don't suppose you're expecting a call," I spoke up in a light tone to diffuse the circumstances if only a tidbit.

He smiled, "Nope. Are you?"

"Not unless it's me from the future wanting to have a word on my stubborn behavior," I chuckled, returning my sights on the ringing phone. "I guess we should answer it though. You know, before it starts following us around."

"Yeah, too late for that," he breathed, opening the door and reaching for the receiver.

I shifted uncomfortably but nonetheless smiled at his straightforward manner in addressing the problem. A part of me worried about his safety – more so than the poor worker before, that's for sure. That guy stood young and healthy, a good match for any potential villain. But the man before me, although strong and exhibiting experience in the realm of combat, appeared more fragile. His sandy hair bore silver streaks from stress, and the presence of a cane didn't help matters.

Prior to him answering, I called, "If it's some shady character don't let it worry you. I'm certain the two of us can take him on."

He gave a small laugh as I grinned and continued into the Cottage, "If you need me, just holler and I'll dash out with extra hot sauce to sear the eyes out of Mr. Sketch."

Hopefully my light take on the situation dulled some of that stress I observed on him. It sure took some away from me, but nevertheless I kept the man in sights. If it really did turn out to be malicious, there was no chance I'd let him take the fall alone. Still, if it turned out to be a prank, then I suppose we could both laugh over it sometime later.

"Next," the cashier called, and I quickly proceeded with my order.

A few moments later, I carried a well sized bag of to die for smelling chicken and fri- no chips. Wow, that rolled off the mind oddly, especially with the different version back home in America. Why do countries have to make things so difficult? The English language was hard enough on its own – the poor sods attempting it for a second language… But I suppose the fluctuations in timbre and word choice attracted far more than repulsed me.

I nabbed a few extra napkins and glanced up to check on my new pal – who disappeared into some car that drove off. I stood staring for a moment, caught off guard. He didn't seem to go unwillingly. Maybe a little sketched out, but definitely not forced. I let the thought soothe my conscience as I exited the place and began snaking on the meal while aimlessly walking in hopes I would stumble upon a familiar sight. And lo and behold, I did just that. Although not in the way I expected.

Just a block away was the tea-snatching younger Holmes, looking around in prospect for a taxi I presumed. I nearly choked on the piece of chicken in my mouth upon the sight, and ended up coughing louder than I'd have preferred. The noise attracted his attention and he briefly narrowed his eyes as if to affirm his observation as well.

"Fancy meeting you here," I rasped, clearing my throat of the lingering bits of food, "On a casual walk about? With your," I paused, glancing at his possession's superfluous pink hue that starkly contrasted with his demeanor. I raised an eyebrow, "valise? A bit out of your style and gender association, don't you think?"

"I would exchange a greeting as well, but I'm in the middle of something of much more importance than a pedestrian stroll," he responded matter-of-factly, "As for the suitcase, it's not mine

"Obviously," I huffed, giving the object a closer look. Something about it seemed awfully familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. An uneasy tone slid down my back, resulting in a less than concealed fidget, which Mr. Holmes keenly caught onto.

I opened my mouth to speak when he cut me off, "No, I did not steal it."

"Okay…" I gave him a weird look.

"What? It's perfectly logical based on the circumstances," he continued, "Faulty, but logical."

I shook my head, "Right, but not where I was going."

"And where would that be?"

"Nothing, just..." I exhaled, "Déjà vu I guess."

He rolled his eyes, likely taking me to be a babbling distraction to whatever he had on his plate. Not wishing to leave on that note, I elaborated, "Besides, you don't seem the delinquent type. Even if you were, you'd be a pretty dense one to snatch that. The size alone-"

"Wait," he interrupted, "You recognize the case?"

"What? No," I frowned, "I mean, it looks familiar but there must be a thousand-"

"Taxi!" he called, once again interrupting me. And not at the best of times, seeing as my patience weathered away swifter with my sleep deprived mind.

Not long after, a faithful cab pulled up and he climbed in but left the door open.

"Forgetting something?" I inquired, glancing at the suitcase beside me.

"No," he replied, waiting expectantly. When I didn't catch on quick enough – which, might I add, was in the span of twenty seconds – he added, "Are you going to stand there like an idiot all night? Get in."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him. What was he playing at? Me getting into the same vehicle as him, when we've only just met? He might as well tempt me with a promise to see a basket full of puppies while he's at it. Well sorry to disappoint, but he just got demoted to the sector of super-freaky fans. Although, he was Mycroft's brother. Chances are I could squeeze out an address if I tagged along - and weighing the odds with wandering around, I found it much more suitable.

Grabbing the bag, I lifted it into the cab to rest between us and closed the door.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked curtly.

"Baker Street," Holmes answered promptly and we set off to where I presumed the brother lived.

I could only imagine what Mycroft would say upon realizing that not only had I misplaced my map and likely would return later than the appointed time, but was once again in the presence of his brother going to his flat. He'd pop a vein, but then what he doesn't know won't kill him right?

Glancing at the brother, I started, "Care to explain why I'm here?"

He kept his gaze set on the window, "Oh, nothing really. Just avoiding supererogatory glances."

"Great, nice to know I'm being used efficiently," I rolled my eyes and glanced out at the city streaming by in a ray of lights. Silence descended for a bit, but I didn't want it to progress further into the realm of awkwardness. Nope, dealt with that already in the presence of the elder, no need to repeat with the younger.

"Figure it out yet?" I asked

"Hmm?" he looked from the corner of his eye.

"Did you solve it?" I prompted, "You know, the problem I gave you."

"Oh that," he breathed, returning his gaze to the window, "I threw the note away, no need to busy myself with frivolous sport."

"I see," I nodded, "I mean, I understand. Not everyone has the capacity to think creatively. No harm there."

If he was anything like his brother, then that ought to perk his attention, and indeed, he actually turned his head fully in answer, "The question you presented has nothing to do with my cognitive capacities, which surmount the majority public, including yours if I might add. I simply desired not to squander the time to entertain such trivialities."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it millions of times before," I shook my head, "You might as well own up to it. At least then you could save some pride in being honest."

"Only an imbecile would risk everything in the name of image and candor with an outlander," he scoffed.

"True, but at least he'd save himself from appearing an overconfident fool who believes himself incomprehensible and adept at concealing a lie," I countered, reaching over to his coat pocket and pulling out the napkin, neatly folded in a manner so not to mar the words written inside.

I smiled at his displeased look. I suppose he wasn't accustomed to other people acting with an audacity like his own, and directed towards him for that matter. Sort of a taste of his own medicine deal. I didn't mind since it allowed me a moment of entertainment and the opportunity to get under his skin a bit. Perhaps I'd even learn something while there.

Opening the napkin I read aloud, "With thieves I consort, with the vilest, in short. I'm quiet at ease in depravity, yet all divines use me, and savants cannot lose me, for I am the center of gravity." I looked at him, "What am I?"

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought he'd blow me off, but I suppose the prospect of a challenge appealed too strongly for him to back down. In those sea green depths, I observed his meticulous calculations blurring all around, producing the same storm of thought seen in his sibling's gaze. How odd it was, that the two vaguely resembled family physically, yet were nearly twins upon witnessing them process information.

A minute of quiet passed and I smiled, "Got it yet?"

He inhaled, blinking perhaps for the first time since the question was proposed. He must also have some serious stare competition practice or contacts to accomplish that without tearing in the slightest. I suppose the contacts would additionally explain the striking hue of his irises, magnifying them explosively to the point where you couldn't help but marvel at them… Not that I was at the moment, though I'll give him as much to say they did fascinate me.

"I won't waste my time for your entertainment," he concluded, shifting back to the window.

I laughed, halting his progression, "Yeah, I thought so."

"Thought what?" he frowned.

"You don't have the slightest clue," I grinned.

"No, I simply wish not to carelessly squander my energy," he countered, but I didn't buy it in the least.

"Sure. You're just too stubborn to admit that you don't know the answer when it's plain as day," I goaded.

"And you presume you're superior to me because of that?" he huffed.

"Well at least in this area," I confirmed, "After all, I know the answer and I figured it out faster than you."

"Care to elaborate on the solution?"

"No way, that'd ruin all the fun," I chuckled, "Besides, if you're anything like Mycroft, this should be a piece of cake for you."

"I'd prefer you refrain from comparing me to my brother," he growled, "The only thing we share is heritage, nothing more."

"Alright, I won't expand any further in that area. But I must deny that statement entirely, you two correlate in more ways than just parentage," I calmly replied, earning a glare from him. "Back to the matter at hand then?"

He momentarily withdrew into a snit, but ultimately spoke, "Fine, seeing as abiding to your desires remains the only probable solution of ridding me of your incompetence." I frowned but let him continue uninterrupted, "The answer to your inquiry is simple. It is the mind."

I nodded, "Very well thought out. Fits perfectly with everything, although a bit of a stretch in the sense of depravity."

"How so? The root of all depravity rests in the mind, corrupting everything below. In short, a neat match," he defended.

"True, but ultimately a stretch and therefore incorrect," I responded.

"I gainsay," he argued.

"And you've gained no ground whatsoever," I shot back, "You may have a good solution, but it isn't the right one."

His eyes flashed angrily, "It solved the problem, therefore proves more than acceptable."

"But it doesn't fulfill critical points," I simply stated, managing to contain my annoyance in a better fashion than him surprisingly.

A tense atmosphere widened from him, enveloping the whole back seat. Yet just before it could influence my ire, the taxi came to a halt and the cabbie alerted us to our arrival. Relieved, I began exiting the vehicle but was stopped when Holmes grabbed my wrist, pulling me back down.

I gave him a frustrated look, demanding an explanation as he gave an order of his own, "Tell me the answer you consider superior to mine."

"And I suppose you won't let me go until I comply, huh?" I sighed, "No need to be so dramatic."

"Just answer the question," he growled.

I smirked, wondering how his obsession would influence his reaction upon the true solution, "Alright then. The correct solution is:…"

* * *

Sorry for the long wait! Scholarship applications and school just take it all out of me, but lovely reviews may change that :D  
Probably going to revise this one as well once I find the time, but I hope you all like for now. By the way, the answer is in the title c;

If you like then favorite or review c;


End file.
